


Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors

by dancinbutterfly



Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>E starts smoking again because there's nothing else he can do. E/Vince, set somewhere after Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Note to my recipient: I hope you like it. It's probably not the sort of angst you had in mind but it is definitely angst. I hope it didn't disappoint you because I really enjoyed writing it.  
> Thanks: Julie, Pesha, Liz and Ashley. Thank you all so much for all your help.
> 
> Written for cashewdani

 

 

Eric can still see the wave in his mind. When he closes his eyes, he can see blue-green curling into white. He can see it pummeling Vince off his surf board, head first into something just beneath the water.

He doesn't breathe as they pull Vince, limp and horribly pale, out of the water and onto sand. He doesn't realize he's even doing it until the moment when his vision starts to blur and he gasps on pure instinct.

Different countries' ambulances have different sounding sirens and the Australian ones that arrive for Vince sound like they are screaming to E. 

This shit doesn't happen. Ever. Okay, Brandon Lee, but that doesn't count. There was a gun involved and it just doesn't count. People don't die on movie sets. They just don't.

Except Vince's heart stops twice between the beach where they were filming and whatever was Australia's answer for an ER. Twice in the space of about ten minutes, E sits with his hands clasped together, and watches Vince die. Each time it feels like there's a piece of E dying with Vince until the paramedic gets his heart beating again. 

He waits until they whisk Vince off to surgery before he loses it. He manages to get himself all the way into the men's bathroom with the door locked behind him before his entire body is racked with some of the most intense, strangling sobs he's ever experienced in his entire life. It brings him to his knees - the panic, the adrenaline leaving his body, the fear of what he could hear when he goes back out there.

Then he pulls himself together, washes his face, and he calls Turtle and Drama. It's a strange country and this shoot was one of the last and the boys are in various parts of town doing whatever it was they'd wanted to do before they went back to the States.

All told, it takes thirteen minutes for Drama to arrive and nineteen for Turtle. They ask him how Vince is and then they just sit. And they wait.

E wonders what they're thinking about. Johnny's got his fingers steepled, his index fingers pressed together and resting against his lower lip; he's been staring at the exact same spot on the floor for hours now. Turtle has his eyes shut and E would think he was sleeping if it weren't for the nervous tapping of his sneakers against the linoleum. 

All E can think about is the fact that, before they pulled him off to surgery, the doctors kept talking about brain damage. It's more than he can even imagine - the idea of Vince waking up a different person. The idea of Vince not waking up at all. 

So he doesn't think about it. He does something else instead - something he hasn't done in at least ten years, maybe longer. He clasps his hands together and he prays.

~*~*~

"What do you mean `if he ever wakes up?'" E repeats sharply.

The doctor's accent is grinding on Eric's nerves. He usually likes accents. He's got a thick one of his own and he finds other people who have them to be easier to communicate with than the flat tones of most of the LA populace. But right now? He wants to break his pretty Aussie face open if he says "ever" that way one more goddamn time. 

"He spent a significant amount of time without oxygen. There's no way to tell how serious the damage is, or if he'll regain consciousness. And until then, we can't know more than we've told you."

E nods sharply and bites on the inside of his cheek. He fucking hates Vince right now for giving him power of attorney. 

He's going to have to leave this room - where Vince is lying limp and white with a fucking tube down his throat - and go face his friends. He's going to have to look Johnny in the face and tell him that there's a real chance that his baby brother - his favorite sibling with or without the money - will never be able to talk to him ever again. 

Jesus. He's going to have to call Rita and tell her. Yeah, he'd rather be dead right now than make that phone call.

Eric crosses himself and says a Hail Mary and an Our Father. At this point, he needs all the help he can get. 

~*~*~

Ari knows someone. He knows someone who knows someone who's arranged to fly Vince back to the States and thank God for that. He's done with Australia. Not that it's a bad place it's just...it's been a bad few days.

It's been a bad two weeks actually and the ventilator still hasn't come out. If a guy could look past the tube making his lungs work, Vince could pass for sleeping.

Eric can't look past that fucking tube. He has nightmares about that goddamn thing, sleeping sitting up in the chair next to Vince's bed.

The only time he isn't with Vince is when he goes outside for a smoke. 

The cigarette he bums off a New Zealander in the smoking area outside is the first he's had since before things went south with Emily years ago. That first one he gets out of desperation back while Vince was still in the first surgery - the one where Eric didn't know if Vince would be alive the next day. 

Since then it's become something of a ritual. Eric drags the smoke deep into his lungs and holds the acrid, delicious, deadly cloud for as long as he can - thinking about Vince's lungs, how battered they are, how abused. Then he exhales: slow and steady in a stream of grey that looks dirty against the sky.

It's the only tension outlet he has. The nicotine in his bloodstream and the caffeine from the awful hospital coffee seem like the only things that keep him going crazy. The calming act of smoking alone keeps him from biting off the heads of people who don't really deserve it. 

Drama says that he's going to kill himself if he doesn't quit smoking all those cigarettes. E thinks that's far more likely if he does. 

~*~*~

There's a picture of Vince, beneath a blue hospital blanket, ventilator firmly in place, on the front of _People._ It's an old picture; it has to be because the ventilator came out half-way through week three- which is a good sign, the doctors told him: _it means he's healing._

However old it is, Eric's got no idea how they have the picture, but he figures it's his fault - he'd forgotten about the paparazzi and, for once, Ari and Shauna don't yell at him about it. He's forgetting a lot of things lately. 

His world has shrunk down to the chemical smelling halls of Mount Sinai in New York, so that Rita could be close to Vince. He only goes home and showers when she brings his own mother with her, and even then he has to practically be dragged by the ear before he'll go. 

At the beginning of the second month, Johnny goes back to LA. He doesn't want to and he and Eric spend twenty minutes screaming at each other in the hallway outside of Vince's room before a pair of nurses kick them out. Outside, E goes through half a pack of cigarettes in about half an hour.

"I'm his goddamn brother and you're not my boss. You can't make me do shit."

E sucks hard on his cigarette and tries to stop himself from saying anything stupid. It fails, miserably. "He gave you this career, Drama. You don't think he'll be pissed if you throw it away?"

"He did not _give me_ my career. I _earned_ my career. And I have _earned_ the right to stay here when he needs me."

"He gave you every opportunity because this is what he wants for you. He wants you to go and do the damn show. So just go back to LA. Please?"

"I'm not gonna leave my baby bro alone, E."

"He's not alone. Your mom's here. And I'm here. I'm always here."

"I hate to break it to you E, but you're not his brother and you're sure as hell not his wife. It's not the same as family."

Eric flinches. He feels his face react to that statement and he hates himself for it. He knows Johnny's angry. He does. But he also knows that his words shouldn't hurt so fucking much. 

With more self-control than he has ever exercised in his life, E finishes off the cigarette he's holding instead of punching Johnny in the face like he itches to. Even as he tries to calm himself, Johnny deflates before his very eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, his shoulders slumping a little. "I didn't mean that. I'm just fucking tired, that's all."

"We're all tired, Drama," Eric says softly, pulling out and lighting yet another cigarette. 

It's cold in New York -snowing- which is funny because, when they left Australia, summer was just beginning. The fire from his lighter is a stark contrast to the white in the air and he focuses on that rather than the way Johnny's face is twitching. 

"You more than any of us. I didn't mean it, E. Honest. I mean, if anyone's his wife, it's you. I mean - fuck." He rubs his forehead, frustrated. "That didn't come out right."

"Try again," E offers, tapping the filtered end with his thumb so the first flakes of ash go drifting to the sidewalk. It's easier than thinking about what's just exploded out of Johnny's mouth. 

"You love him. I know that. I just...he's my baby brother. I can't just _leave him_ here like this and go back to sunshine and beautiful women."

"Yeah, you can. 'Cause it's what he'd want you to do."

"He wouldn't want you doing what you're doing either."

"Yeah, but see, it's my job to take care of him. It's what I do. I need to do it just like you need to go do your job."

"He's not just a job."

"No. But there's nothing else for me." 

There's just Vince. His whole life, there's just been Vince. Drama and Turtle, they have other things- other people - that they've built their lives around. For E, there's only Vince.

Johnny doesn't say anything. He just reaches out and pulls E into a hug. Johnny's strong and this is awkward but he lets him because, if this is what he needs to do to go back to LA, Eric is going to let him have it. 

He leaves the next day. MGA sends a car to take him directly from the hospital to JFK and Turtle goes with him. He fought considerably less hard when E had asked him to go along with Johnny.

"We'll be back," Turtle had said simply. "In month. Less if we can. And you need us - you call."

E promises he will and then they're gone. Two-thirds of his family is on their way back to LA and the other, the most important, is already gone.

~*~*~

Coma patients can supposedly hear you so Eric talks himself hoarse. He's known Vince his whole life - he already knows everything there is to know about him. All that makes him Eric, Vince has known since they were little.

Which leaves him with fucking nothing to add to the conversation when it's one-sided. 

So he recounts old incidents. He tells Vince what he thought of the first play Vince was ever in- "You were okay. For a radish." He talks about the summers they spent together- excluding the time he nearly drowned at 4-H Camp (because the last thing he wants to think about is drowning). He talks about the girls they competed for. He talks about his first car and when he ran out of things to say, he called Ari and asked him to send over some scripts. When they arrived -the next day, Fed-Exed directly to Vince's hospital room-, he began reading them aloud to Vince; feeling only slightly less stupid than when he was carrying on a conversation with dead air. 

To his credit, Ari calls once a day, every day. At exactly 11:45 AM, E's phone rings and Ari spews his foulmouthed babble at Vince over the cell on speaker mode. His monologues are usually about conquests and projects but E welcomes them. Ari's calls are a chance for him to take a break, take a breath, take a drink. And it's kind of sweet, not that Ari will ever admit to it.

Turtle and Drama call too. They talk briefly to Vince but mostly they talk to him, about what he's doing, about how he needs to start looking at the situation because they're running out of time.

Coma patients usually have a month to wake up without massive brain damage, six if they're going wake up at all. It's been half that. E's got no fingernails left, just bitten bloody tips that he picks at as often as he has a cigarette. 

He's shit at waiting. He used to be patient guy, a mellow laid-back human being. His Zen was nothing next to Vince's but still, he at least had some composure. Now he's just a raw nerve, 24/7. 

His mother starts making him sleep at home. He's not happy about it but her eyes well up with tears and she gives him that "Oh, Eric, I am so disappointed in you" look and he folds like a lawn chair. 

He knows the nurses and orderlies on a first name basis. He's no charmer but, even unconscious, Vince has a way with people. Everyone on the floor has seen _Aquaman._ Most of them saw _Head On_ , a few of them are fans of Harvey's retooled _Medellín_ , and a handful actually caught _Queens Boulevard_ before the injunction. 

Mount Sinai's a prestigious hospital but most of them have never worked with a celebrity before. Stars tend to go to Sinai's obstetrics unit or to their surgical experts. None of them quite know what to do with a movie idol who's so badly damaged without any of the usual self-destructive culprits to blame - drugs, drinking, and excess. 

No, Vince is next door to the guy who fell down the stairs in his apartment building and cracked his skull open because it's just as blameless, just as random. Vince's screen presence charming them sealed the deal. And they respect his dedication, his devotion to Vince. So much so that they don't complain when he gets in the way and are calm and kind when he asks them to teach him what they're doing so he can take care of Vince himself. 

He always thought he wouldn't have to do this until he had kids - the undignified, intensely personal gestures of cleaning and caring for someone who can't care for themselves. It's intimate, running a wet cloth over Vince's pale skin so that a stranger or worse, his mother, doesn't have to see his weakened limbs and unnaturally pale complexion.

The first time he was allowed to take care of Vince, after the nurse showed him how to move him, how to hold him, Eric finds himself choked. He's got Vince in his arms, his chest propped against Eric's own as he washes the grime of stagnancy off his best friend's skin. It's more intimate than any sex Eric's had in his entire life and it hurts, so much it feels like his heart is actually breaking. 

Vince would never have allowed this. Never. The guy was proud, he always had been. Humble but with that sense of pride all New Yorkers seem to be born with. Vince wouldn't have ever wanted anyone to see him like this, and he would have had a lot to say about this if he could see them now.

Only E knows Vince can't say anything. Vince hasn't said anything in weeks and it crushes him. 

Eric doesn't think, he just wraps his arms around Vince's bare chest and cries, quietly, into the softness of his shoulder. He doesn't even smell like Vince anymore- the smell of detergent and pot and coffee and sunlight is replaced with antiseptic and recycled air. 

He sits there for a long time, holding Vince. He's always been in touch with how bad the situation was, but sitting there, his face resting against Vince's cool skin, it's suddenly become very real that he might have to face the rest of his life without Vince in it. 

He once told Sloan that Vince got separation anxiety when they were apart but now, he thinks that she was right. Eric's the one who can't handle being without him.

It's just not fair, he thinks, his lips worrying the skin before he ever realizes what he's doing. If this is the price for Vince being famous, it's too high. And if it's some kind of cosmic punishment for Eric loving him - because he does, he does love Vince so much that it's shaped the entire path of his life - then the universe took out the wrong fucking person. 

He feels like a little boy again, scared and vulnerable. And that's how Rita finds him at the end of visiting hours. She pulls him off of Vince and drags him home and they talk. 

Well, she talks at him about what she thinks he's feeling. She asks him what his plans are. She asks him if he's in love with her son and when Eric doesn't answer, she purses her lips and stares him down. 

"How long's this been going on?"

"Jesus, Rita," he snaps, "I don't even know where I am half the time. Vince is...he's...fuck, how can you even ask me that?"

"Right. Typical," she sighs and folds her arms in frustration. Her expression asks `how can you be so dumb?'; Eric's own mother used to give him her version of that look all the time when he let Vince and Turtle drag him into trouble. 

"My whole life I've been cursed with boys. I couldn't have had just one girl?" 

She rubs her face and then gives him a smile. 

"I guess it's fitting. He always did love you most," Rita sighs. "It always worried me a little. I thought one day you'd grow up and leave him and then where would he be, I ask you?"

She's the only person he's ever met who thought that Eric would be the one to break Vince's heart. 

Eric collapses back on her couch and looks anywhere but in her eyes. "I don't know."

"Eric, do you know how bad you look? When was the last time you ate?"

"I had breakfast." A cup of coffee and three cigarettes but that counted.

"It's almost eight-thirty."

"Rita-"

"You're gonna eat," she says firmly and he doesn't have the energy to fight her.

~*~*~

Since they got Vince to New York there's been a guy named Frank who comes in four times a week and moves Vince. Frank's built like Dom and he physically picks up Vince's arms, legs, and torso. Frank's big ham-sized hands are strangely delicate as he massages the muscles beneath Vince's skin, he lifts and lowers his arms and legs, he rubs Vince's hands all the way out to the tips of his fingers.

"It's to prevent muscle atrophy," Frank explains. "It's going to be hard enough for him to bounce back without letting it get too bad." He says it like he really believes that Vince is going to wake up, which makes him one of Eric's favorite people in the hospital.

E nods in dumb agreement, but he watches intently everything Frank does. And when looking isn't enough he asks questions. The first time he asked, Frank grinned at him and began narrating everything he was doing.

"Every day is better," Frank tells him. "But I've got other patients. You can do it when I'm not here," he advises, as if that's not Eric's plan anyway. 

The nurses cluck under their breath about it, bigger gossips than the reporters for _Us Weekly_. They think it's cute. They think it's sweet. They think it's sad. They don't disturb him if he closes the door to give Vince what little privacy he can. 

It's not a very exciting routine but it's consistent at least. And while he's not a professional, he gets on well enough. 

All of it, particularly washing and repositioning Vince, put him in the position of holding Vince in his arms every day. It's not something he could get away with otherwise, no matter what he'd discussed with Rita. It's not even something he's really comfortable with. His body reacts too strongly to those broad shoulders and that smooth skin for it to be anything like comfortable. But it is comforting, to be this close. He can almost pretend that Vince is just sleeping when he holds him like this.

Eric is pretty sure his mind is playing tricks on him on the day when Vince moves slightly in his arms and groans. It's a soft sound. He's not even sure he really heard it. But then Vince moves again, slowly and stiff, turning his head carefully and looking at him with hazy blue eyes.

His hand freezes on a patch of skin near Vince's armpit and he squeezes the sponge he's holding so tightly his fingernails dig right through it. He's holding his breath again, just like he did when Vince was first pulled out of the water

Vince blinks at him, slowly and groans again. His lips part to say something Eric hopes, he freaking prays, but Vince's eyes go wide and he coughs, harshly and dryly, shaking slightly in his grip.

Water, Eric thinks numbly. He needs water. It's been months since he had fluids through anything but an IV, of course his throat is dry. There's a bottle of water on the table next to the bed but it's too far for him to reach like this so he shifts, carefully, and begins to slide out from behind Vince. 

A thin fingered hand comes off the bed, reaching for Eric's long sleeve shirt. Vince's hand lands on his arm gracelessly and Eric watches his fingers tremble and spasm as he tries to grab hold of the fabric and fails. There's fear in Vince's eyes now as he sits limply on the elevated bed and something burns in the back of Eric's throat. 

"I'm just getting you something to drink, Vince," he says softly, covering the twitching hand with his own. "It's good to see you up, man. You had us all scared shitless."

He keeps his hand on Vince's, which is still fucking shaking, and stretches his arm out for the bottle of water one of the nurses had left hear for him. It's one of the only times he has ever truly _hated_ being short but he manages, barely.

He wonders if Vince can drink it from the bottle or if he should get cup and maybe a straw. He wonders if he should call a nurse. He wonders what he did right to get a second chance to see those eyes awake and alert and decides that Vince needs drink, and he's seen him in worse states than with a little bit of spilled water on him.

He holds the bottle while Vince drinks because when Vince tries to reach for it, his hand rebels again. So Eric grabs it casually and tugs it back down to the mattress before he helps Vince take a few long drinks, slowly and carefully. Then he pulls back and hits the call button like he should have when Vince first opened his eyes. Then he slumps into his chair, positioned so close to Vince's bed that he doesn't even have to let go of his hand to do so, and exhales.

"E?" he croaks and oh, God, it is so good to hear his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Throat hurts," Vince said in that same dry, groggy voice that was music to E's ears. 

"Sorry," he says sincerely. "A nurse is coming."

Vince licks his lips and tries again. "Tired. Where...?"

"New York. It's been a while, Vince. You really scared us."

Vince snorts because he knows what that means. It means that he worried E, yet again. But he's got a look on his face that says he's sorry, that he didn't mean to and Eric is struck by the craziest urge to kiss him. 

Instead, he said softly, "I'm glad you're awake, Vince. We missed you." I missed you, he thinks and squeezes Vince's hand and hopes, prays, that Vince is with it enough to understand that. 

"Missed you too," Vince mumbles tiredly as a nurse bustles excitedly into the room at the sight of her patient awake and talking. "Feels like...'long time since last I saw you, E."

He gives into to the urge to brush a curl out of Vince's eyes now that he's going to need to see. He's going to have to leave in a moment, let the good doctors and nurses do what they're trained to do. He smiles, a real one that splits uncontrolled across his face, and squeezes Vince's hand one final time.

"Way too long," he agrees, letting go gently. "Feels kinda like forever. I'll be right back, Vince. I need to go call the guys and your mom."

Vince gives him a sleepy, lopsided smile and Eric can finally breathe again. 

He tosses his pack of cigarettes in the trash on his way out of the room.

 


End file.
